


Cowboys Here and Toxic Relationships There

by habaneroomilk



Category: Original Work
Genre: 19th Century, Alternate Universe - Western, Developing Relationship, Everyone Is Gay, First Meetings, Gambling, Gay, How Do I Tag, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Malik is a toxic asshole, Medad is much colder for some reason, Might get more mature, Oneshot, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Possible first chapter, Rating May Change, Relationship(s), Suggestive Themes, Tags May Change, Unhealthy Relationships, Whiskey - Freeform, Wild West, You'll see what I mean, cowboy, might continue
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 15:26:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20950640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/habaneroomilk/pseuds/habaneroomilk
Summary: Malik and his gang of friends are known criminals and outlaws of the West. He's gotten ahead of himself with the privileges he's had, the young bastard. When he meets this angelic older man, he's determined to go after him whether they like it or not. Especially if said older man doesn't like it.





	Cowboys Here and Toxic Relationships There

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of my first long stories in a while, so forgive me if you can tell I have a short attention span. Also the first time in a long time I've written adult themes again, so it's not the beeeest. Any constructive criticism is welcome :)  
These are my original characters (Medad belongs to me, and Malik belongs to my friend). I don't know how to continue it, so if you like it I'd love to know how i could turn this into something mature-rated? (Please don't sue me).

It had been weeks since Malik and his group of criminal friends ran into true civilization, and by the time they found the town of … their thoughts drifted away from money and girls and more focused to whiskey and plates of actual food. Finally! A break from cooked rabbit or boiled vegetables they scraped together from their supplies. Malik, the leader of the entanglement of friends, led his friends on their horses into town. Without hesitance, he steered his horse to the normal post stops set outside the saloon; they all cramped their horses into the stop as they tied their reins to the wooden bar. 

“I’ll be back, boy,” Malik uttered to his horse, scratching their forehead before gently pushing their head away in affection. The horse deeply whinnied. 

Stepping inside, the atmosphere was more formal than he expected, many people dressed up to show off their riches and position in town. A good change of pace, this small yet wealthy town was, from the other desert villages his group stumbled upon time and time again throughout their travels to California. As he glanced about the room, hands on his hips in a defiant fashion, one person in that bar caught his eye.

Malik wasn’t ready for the figure standing before him, not mentally. He was captivated by the man that stood next to him, his friends standing around him as they ordered shots of whiskey. The man in question was almost like a ghost. Their skin was a pale white, lighter than anything Malik had ever seen. Their hair was long, covering most of his face and stopping down at the shoulders. A platinum, almost white, his hair curled up in different directions like unbrushed chaos. Their face was soft, a faint pink glow to his cheeks and the tips of his ears. Lips kept in a small frown, they silently downed a shot. Their vibrant red eyes didn’t move from the spot in front of them, not until they rose from their bar-stool. He gently placed a bill on the bar-top, hands shaking as he retrieved his jacket from the back of his chair and put it on himself. Gray wolf fur. It was large on him, the sleeves slightly too big due to him appearing to be as thin as a rail. Almost as if he could be snapped in half if you so much as touched him. His button-up underneath his jacket was a clean white, as well as his pants. His boots shined a lustered white leather. He was wealthy, Malik knew that. And that’s all Malik  _ wanted _ to know. As soon as the door to the saloon swung shut behind this strange little entity after their departure, Malik opened his mouth to finally speak.

“Who was that,” Malik demanded breathlessly, turning towards the bartender with a raised brow. 

“Not from around here, huh?” The bartender took to setting down multiple shots of whiskey, Malik’s pack cheering to each other as they clinked their shot-glasses together and took to downing it all. Malik nodded firmly, leaning against the bartop with his forearm over the counter. “The way you were staring at Medad there it was obvious.”

“Medad, huh?” Malik grinned.

“Means love,” the bartender scoffed. “His father is the minister here in town. Medad there works with his uncle in the carpentry store, but he mostly sits there and looks pretty.”

“Sight to see,” Malike muttered. He bit his lip, his eyes drifting out to the door where Medad left the establishment from.

“Tell me about it. They call him “Angel of the West” here in town. Nobody knows why he’s so pale, but a lot of people love it. ‘Specially some of the ladies.” The man, cleaning off a glass before reserving a shot of whiskey into it, pointed over to a couple of ladies as an example. Malik grimaced. Women were preferable to him, but he hadn’t come across one he would tolerate for more than one night yet. Even then the ladies here in this town weren’t great. Then a realization hit him.

“He courted then,” Malik assumed, trying to backtrack to see if he could recall a ring on Medad’s bony finger.

“Minister’s son, remember?” 

Malik gave a near audible sigh of relief. 

“The man’s a strict one. Medad refuses to marry, but you’d catch him dead before he goes poking around doing whatever any ladies want. He’s turned away the best girls in this town without any remorse.” The bartender leaned in towards Malik, as if he was speaking forbidden words. “Picky one if you ask me.”

Malik looked back to the door. Next to the door was a large window, and it was his guess as to why he saw the same delicate man sat at the outside table on the front porch, under the overhang of the saloon’s roof. They were playing with a new deck of cards, busy sorting and organizing them all into meticulous order of rank. Lips curled into a thoughtful smile. “Hm,” he hummed. 

It was a cool evening, the sun beginning to set and candles being lit in the windowsills. Medad was content, body relaxed as he played Solitaire. No one was around save for the stray traveler entering and exiting the saloon. It was peaceful for him. That was short-lived when a generally rugged looking individual began to walk up to Medad’s small oak-wood table. His smile was wicked, but nothing like that could intimidate Medad more than paternally related men. To his memory, he was wearing a black cloak down to his mid-forearm, a dark coat under it with thick denim pants. His boots were a sharp black, covered in dirt and sod from previous travels that he had not yet cleaned off with a decent shining. Medad let out a frustrated grumble.

“Mind if we join you?” Malik sat down, some of his friends following while others stood behind them. 

  
“Sorry, it’s just me right now. I’m not betting,” they murmured.

“Who said anything about betting?” Malik sat back, propping his arms behind his head and loosely crossing his legs. “What’s your name, baby?”

“I’d appreciate you not calling me that,” Medad aggressed.

“C’mon, not  _ that _ bad is it? I’ve called people worse.” There was a long, awkward silence as Malik lit up a cigar, puffing smoke out from between his lips with unfazed confidence while he waited for a response. His leg began to bounce from impatience.

“It’s Medad. Medad Buehrer. I’d  _ prefer _ you call me Buehrer.”

“Darling little name for a darling little person. I like that.” He winked, “So Mei-”

“Buehrer,” they interjected.

“ _ Bueh _ rer.” God, he was already getting on his nerves. “Assertive little bastard, aren’t ya?” Malik gave a deep exhale. “You seeing someone then, Buehrer?”

“No. I don’t ever plan to.”

“Hmhm. So, pretty boy, you like being out here all lonesome?” They planted an elbow onto the wooden table, smugly glancing Medad up and down with a look of vulgarity. “Mm, solitaire. Fine game.”

“I stay out here to play cards, and think.” He stared straight at Malik. “Alone.”

“Woah there, darlin’, I didn’t mean anything rude. You seem so lonesome over here by yourself.” He scooted his chair closer to theirs, an arm snaking around Medad’s shoulder. His lips parted into a sleazy smile.“Why don’t me and my friends here buy you a drink?”

“I don’t drink much.”

“I’m asking nicely here,” Malik growled.

“Or what?” Medad squeezed out of Malik’s grip, glancing around and staring daggers into Malik’s gang. “I’ll be frank,  _ kid _ , you’re treating me like some half-brained  _ girl _ and I don’t believe I like that very much.”

Ouch, okay. “Fiesty one,” Malik spat. He clenched his fists, but swiftly relaxed them. Now wasn’t the time, but maybe after he got what he wanted. “Okay. New plan. My friends here gets us all some drinks, on me, and we catch up playing some Poker. Ya like that?” 

Medad looked him up and down only once. His cold, lifeless eyes glared into Malik’s with a sense of knowing. They slammed their eyes shut, clearly infuriated to a neighbor although to a stranger they only looked slightly annoyed. Pinching their forehead, they raised a single index finger. “One game,” they stated, “and I’m done.”

__________

“So, Buehrer, ask if I may, where’d ya get all your getup?” Malik leaned forward inquisitively. All of his friends sat around him, though Medad was smart enough to sit alone as to not let anyone, even spectators, take notice of his cards. It had been nearly an hour and a half of loud chatter, laughter, and dirty jokes from Malik’s side of the table. Medad on the other hand was completely silent, save for general small talk or the occasional hushed gasp given to him from his weak lungs.

“Made by the tailor here in town. Paid a lotta coin for it too,” Medad mumbled as he searched through his cards. Glancing up at Malik for the first time this entire game, he set aside a moment of concentration to focus on the younger man’s face. His skin was fair, clean, but rugged. 

“Father’s money?” His black hair was a thick, coarse texture, long enough to be tied up into a small ponytail that fluffed out of the back of his head under his large brimmed hat.

  
“Oh, you know it. My father may be a corrupt idiot, but he makes money.” Medad giggled a tiny bit at this. He wasn’t used to badmouthing his father but he certainly didn’t mind it. Malik stared at him dumbfounded, almost like he was a kid found putting his hand into the nest of a rattlesnake. He was what, a few years his senior and he couldn’t even mutter a “bastard”? Or a “damn”?

Medad noticed he had these light brown eyes. Piercing, almost. They were…  _ beautiful? _ Perhaps that wasn’t an appropriate term to use for another man. Absolutely not. 

  
“Please, everyone knows. They’re just too scared to say anything.” 

Malik began to notice that Medad’s foot was running against their ankle. Gently, almost teasingly. 

“Your turn,” Medad piped up chipperly.

“Ah-” Malik took a card from the pile, sorting his small deck before glancing up to notice Medad staring intently at him, lips pursed and brow furrowed. His sad eyes were widened just a little more than they usually were. Little to his knowledge, there was a reason Medad often played solitaire alone. Everyone in their populated town knew that Medad was a swindler when it came to Poker, or any other game that involved gambling for that matter. No one knows how, as even the most devious ex-convicts or liars claimed Medad never once cheated. A natural talent, perhaps, to make up for his clumsiness with labor and fragility. A sharp mind against a natural-born cheater. 

Malik very slightly cocked his head. “What’re you staring at?”

  
“Nothing, just taking it in.” His foot began to gently move across Malik’s boot. It wasn’t long before their foot was slowly rubbing up and down the inside of Malik’s leg. It was a shock to him, how forward this angel of a man was, but God if he didn’t mind the attention.

“Mmm, well,” Malik snapped his fingers aggressively. His voice was loud and commandatory. He pointed towards all of his friends. “You all go get some drinks. I need more space to concentrate here.” 

  
One of them protested. “Hey, but-” 

“Fuck off,” Malik shouted, baring his teeth. All of them stood, some of them departing into the saloon with no hesitation while others were hesitant to leave. In the end, however, Malik got what he wanted, despite a couple of his friends watching from the front window with intrigue and suspicion.

It was near silent once they were alone, save for Medad’s steady breathing as he shuffled through his own cards. Malik tensed, feeling the bottom of Medad’s shoe press against his groin. It went back and forth, gently running along the very inside of Malik’s thigh before going back to the hem of their pants. 

“God _ damn _ ,” Malik groaned quietly. It wasn’t feeling half-bad, but Malik blamed that on the lack of intercourse for the past two weeks he’d been travelling to California.

“Something wrong, kid?” Medad tilted his head at them, looking up with his large, innocent eyes. A coy smile spread across his face.

  
The friction was getting to him now. Ignoring it was useless when his body was already starting to respond. “Mmmfuck,” Malik moaned. He forced a couple of bills out of his pocket and slammed it onto the middle of the table. “That’s all I’m betting now, I can’t go any further.”

“Oh, no? That’s too bad. You’d like the money, wouldn’t you?

“You’ve been playing real smart against me. Wouldn’t you want to play with something else afterwards?” With that, Medad pressed the heel of his boot hard against the other’s crotch. A jolt shot up Malik’s back, before he huffed quietly. He paid no mind to his cards as he was content with staring at Medad’s pale face and spotless complexion. 

“What’re you thinking,” Malik interrogated. His eyelids fluttered the tiniest bit, ears blushing a gentle red while he glared at Medad.

“Something better than cards, but only if you win.” Medad flashed a suggestive smile at them, their teeth a near perfect white. 

Malik was silent for a long while, heartbeat picking up in speed as he thought through the events that would surely happen that night. Their eyes intently examined their cards. He finally responded with a knowing grin. “Well then,” he set down his cards on the table, “Straight Flush. I win.”

Medad chuckled as Malik crossed his arms triumphantly, finally sitting back and letting the feeling of his growing arousal take him up in its arms. He groaned, cursing under his breath when Medad quickly retracted their foot, crossing their legs out of defiance.

“Hey, whatsa matter pretty boy? Sore loser?” He lifted up the brim of his hat to get a good look at them, staring with an exaggerated frown as he eagerly waited for a response.

Medad set his cards down for display. “Five of a Kind.  _ I _ win!” Standing up, he swiftly grabbed his small leather pouch and began to shove as many bills as he could fit into it. “Thank you, Malik mister, it was very kind meeting you.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of my first long stories in a while, so forgive me if you can tell I have a short attention span. Also the first time in a long time I've written adult themes again, so it's not the beeeest. Any constructive criticism is welcome :)  
These are my original characters (Medad belongs to me, and Malik belongs to my friend). I don't know how to continue it, so if you like it I'd love to know how i could turn this into something mature-rated? (Please don't sue me).


End file.
